


Season of Flowers

by PalavaRakkaus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: (The plant-based trope suitable for vegans), Angst, Dubious Consent, Guilt, I have never touched the source material, Lack of Communication, M/M, Sex Pollen, Smut, The consequences of dubious consent, due to the aforementioned sex pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalavaRakkaus/pseuds/PalavaRakkaus
Summary: When Fenris walks into a field of exactly the wrong kind of flowers, Anders does his best to help, but afterwards, he has to wonder if he did the right thing. Perhaps he was selfish and greedy and Fenris will hate him for it forever.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 71





	1. White Flowers

Hawke had made it her mission in life to make things difficult for Anders.

Anders would have not minded playing her delivery boy so much if he'd had someone—anyone—else for company but Fenris. Of course Hawke, being Hawke, had decided he had to go on this trip with the bastard of an elf.

"So why aren't you doing that yourself?" Anders had asked.

"I'm busy," Hawke had said, a little dismissively in Anders' opinion.

"Busy with what, exactly? And, incidentally, does that mean absolutely everyone else but Fenris is also busy?"

"Well," Hawke had answered, "pretty much."

She'd failed to elaborate further, and Anders, for whatever reason, had failed to put up fight.

Which was why he and Fenris were on the road, on their way home after leaving Hawke's package, containing some sort of a very valuable book, to its rightful owner. Two more tense, uncomfortable days before they would be back home, and then Anders was going to give Hawke a piece of his mind.

She'd had the audacity to wink at Anders, as if she knew something she had no right to know, when she'd called the trip a _bonding experience_.

It had not been anything like that, as Anders could have told her even before they'd left. All spending days upon days on the road with Fenris had done was drive Anders mad; the elf did not like him and did not shy away from showing it either. Even if Justice had not been an issue, Fenris would have loathed him for being born a mage. Anders' only option was to do his best to hate the elf right back, and no amount of "bonding time" would change that.

Not for the better, at least.

They'd stopped near a small river for the night. Anders was returning to the camp after washing off the road dust and filling his waterskin when he spotted Fenris, halfway through a patch of white, red-centred flowers.

He recognised those flowers, and the shock of seeing Fenris in the middle of them sent a flash of cold dread through his body and made him nearly drop his staff.

"Fenris, _stop_."

The elf froze and turned to look at Anders over his shoulder. He had his arms full of firewood, which explained why he'd left the camp without a word earlier.

"Mage, what—?"

"Shut up," Anders said. He could feel the panicked beating of his heart in his chest. "Don't ask questions. Turn around and follow your own tracks back until you're out of those flowers. Try not to breathe."

"What—?"

"Shut your blighted mouth and do as I say!"

Something about the alarm in Anders' voice must have gotten through to the elf. Slowly, he turned around and walked towards Anders, his footsteps careful, until he was standing on grass again. Anders took a few steps back.

"Lay that down." He gestured at the firewood in the elf's arms.

With a narrow-eyed look at Anders' direction, Fenris did as he was told.

"Will you explain now?" he snapped as he straightened.

That was the last thing Anders wanted to do. Fenris would find out soon enough anyway, so instead, he gestured towards the river—and Maker, was he glad they had decided to stop so close to one tonight—with his staff.

"We need to get to the river. _Now_ ," he said. "Don't argue with me. Just—walk."

Fenris gave him an annoyed look, but did as Anders had told him. Anders tried to stay at least outwardly calm as he followed, keeping upwind from the elf. The last thing he needed was to breathe in any of the pollen he could see staining Fenris's leggings and bare feet.

That would lead to a disaster Anders didn't even dare to let himself imagine.

The clear, cold water burbled merrily, almost mocking Anders' still-rising anxiety, as they both stopped on the riverbank.

"Get in the water," Anders ordered.

Fenris shifted. "What—?"

"Can you stop _saying_ that?" Anders wondered how audible the panic he felt was in his voice. "Get in the water, _now_."

Fenris did not do that. "Not before you explain."

Anders took a deep breath. "Because you've just inhaled Andraste knows how much pollen that's _not_ good for you, and we at least need to get it out of your hair and skin and clothes before you breathe in more of it!"

Fenris's eyes narrowed. He still seemed angry rather than worried. "Not good for me _how_ , exactly? Is it going to kill me?"

"I bloody well wish it was!" Anders snapped. It wasn't usually deadly, but if Fenris had breathed in enough of the pollen, he would feel the same way soon enough. "Get in the blighted water, elf!"

Fenris crossed his arms, looking very much as if he had no intention to follow any orders, especially ones coming from Anders, and Anders was done arguing with him. He did not give the elf a single word of warning before he moved.

The end of his staff made a sharp clanging sound as it connected with the centre of Fenris's breastplate with all the force Anders could put behind it. Unprepared to the sudden attack, Fenris staggered backwards and, with a great splash, fell into the water.

At any other time, Anders would have enjoyed watching the elf splutter and flail as he tried to find his footing on the slippery stones of the river bottom, but now his chest was too tight with worry and fear to be amused by it.

"Stay there." Magic crackling around him, Anders pointed the end of his staff at Fenris's face as the elf tried to get up. "If you get out of the water before I tell you to, I _will_ set you on fire. For your own good."

Fenris's tattoos flared, brilliant blue in the fading light. It made a large area of water glow around him. "You are _dead_ , mage."

But he wasn't getting out of the river, so it seemed he did believe he needed to wash off the pollen.

"You can kill me once we've gotten through this," Anders said and stepped away from the riverbank. "You need to wash your clothes. All of them. Get the pollen out, every last bit, because we don't want it getting into your system; you've had quite enough as it is."

The glow of the lyrium faded around Fenris. "You could explain—" he broke off, eyes wide and his mouth still open. "Anders." His voice sounded strained.

Anders gritted his teeth. "Starting to figure it out now, are you?" he asked.

Fenris stared at him, the elf's face a picture of horror. "It—I—"

Anders nodded. He'd rarely seen such fear on Fenris's face. "Yeah."

Cursing under his breath, Fenris squeezed his eyes shut. Anders actually felt sorry for the poor bastard. At least his own panic was easing a little, now that Fenris was in the water and the pollen was washing away.

"Get out of your clothes, all right?" he said, forcing himself to sound calm and comforting. "You need to wash them."

With his eyes still closed, Fenris nodded. All the fight had left him, and it was a small relief.

Moving slowly, Fenris unsheathed his sword and laid it on the riverbank, fingers clenching around the hilt for a moment as if he didn't want to let it go. He wouldn't have been able to do much with it in the water, but Anders could imagine how helpless the elf had to feel without it—much the same as Anders himself would feel without his magic.

Fenris's hands were shaking, with cold or fear or something else, as he began to open the fastenings of his gauntlets, and Anders could only hope the whole thing would not be too traumatising for him. Fenris may have been a bastard, but no one deserved this, and Anders wished he could offer some kind of reassurance.

There was nothing he could do, he knew that. No magic fixed what the pollen had done to Fenris, and all words would sound empty. The best Anders could do was to stand there and keep watch as he waited for the elf to get out of his clothes and armour in the cold water.

Once Fenris was done, his wet clothes, breastplate and gauntlets resting on the riverbank, hopefully all clean from the pollen, Anders gathered them into his hands—the damn things were _heavy_ —and straightened. The elf's sword still rested on the ground, but Anders assumed Fenris would feel better having it around, even if he was in no shape to use it.

"I'll go back to the camp. Get you—get you a blanket or something. You may … er. You may want to…" This was awkward. _You're an adult, and a healer_ , he reminded himself. _You can talk about these things_. "Er. Wank."

Fenris's entire body jerked, the water splashing around him. "Ex _cuse_ me?!"

"It may make it a little easier. Take the edge off."

Fenris stared at him.

"Listen, this is no joke, elf. Just—just do it."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to hurry back to their campsite, the wet clothes and armour clutched in his arms.

Their fire was almost out by the time Anders was back at the camp. He added a little more wood to it before spreading Fenris's clothing and armour to dry. He hoped it would all be wearable the following day, when Fenris would be back to himself again.

Had Anders imagined this happening to the elf, he would have found it funny, maybe even deserved. Now, as he dug through their belongings for a few blankets, he could find nothing amusing about the situation. Fenris may have not been in mortal danger—at least Anders was almost certain the elf hadn't breathed in that much pollen—but the effects most likely wouldn't fade much before morning, and that was bad enough.

Perhaps he could laugh at this afterwards, when things were back to normal, but now, all he could feel was worry.

Blankets hanging over his arm, Anders headed back towards the river and wished they'd set their camp anywhere else tonight.

To his relief, Fenris had stayed in the same place while Anders had been gone. Whether he'd tried taking care of his problem when he'd had the privacy to do it, Anders didn't know and was not going to ask.

The elf's lips had blueish tint to them that Anders did not like, and staying neck deep in the cold river was not doing him any favours anymore.

"You need to get out of the water," Anders said.

Fenris shook his head.

"You can't stay there all night. It's too cold."

Another headshake. Anders sighed.

"Listen. I'm not leaving you in the blighted river. Either you get out of there on your own, or I will bloody well knock you out and drag you to the camp."

Fenris glared at him. For a short, comforting moment, the elf looked like his usual self.

"Stop that," Anders told him. "Get out of the water."

After a painfully long hesitation, Fenris did. His movements were slow as he waded to the riverbank, arms wrapped around himself. Anders offered him a hand, but Fenris ignored it and clambered up on his own. He was trembling all over, and Anders tried to wrap him into one of the blankets. Fenris shoved him away and snatched the blanket from his hands.

That was probably for the best; touching the elf in his current condition wasn't good for him. From what Anders could remember of what he'd read about these flowers back at the Circle, touching that didn't lead anywhere tended to make things far worse for the affected.

He waited, quietly, his eyes averted, as Fenris dried himself, and when he was sure the elf was not dripping water anymore, offered him the other blanket he'd brought and took the now wet one back. Fenris pulled the new blanket tighter around himself, still shivering, and let out a muffled noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. It sent an unwelcome jolt of heat through Anders' body, and he gritted his teeth.

_No_ , he told himself. _Don't even dream about it, you bastard. This isn't funny, and it sure isn't arousing._

He'd had more than enough guilty thoughts about Fenris that had not involved any kind of unwanted aphrodisiacs; he was not going to add a genuine emergency to those.

"We'll deal with this," he said aloud, his voice as calming as he could manage. "You'll be fine by morning, I promise."

Fenris did not look as if he believed a word, but Anders knew he was right. Embarrassing as the pollen's effects on the elf were, they would pass. They'd last a lot longer than anyone was comfortable with, especially when Fenris couldn't take them out on anyone else, but he would be back to himself eventually and the whole episode would be nothing more than a bad dream.

"Let's go," Anders said. He picked up Fenris's sword, and berated himself for thinking the elf's armour was heavy. He was going to end up dragging the stupid thing to the camp instead of carrying it. "Come on, elf."

He turned to walk away from the river, and Fenris's faltering steps followed.


	2. Would You Regret It Afterwards

The sun had set by the time they reached the campsite.

"Sit down," Anders said gently.

Fenris didn't. Rather, he crumbled to his knees next to their fire, curling into himself with a quiet whimper, and stayed there.

Anders felt a little sick. This was not how their trip had been supposed to go. If he'd imagined a worst-case scenario before they'd left, he would have said a bad fight followed by days of sullen silence. Now that seemed preferable; this was so much worse.

He laid Fenris's sword down next to the elf's clothes and shook his hands. The damn thing was _ridiculously_ heavy; how the elf could wave it around as if it were nothing but a dagger, he would never understand. Fenris could look like such a slender little thing, but the strength of his body—

Anders stopped that trail of thought right there. It had taken him to awkward places before, and with Fenris the way he was, that was the last thing Anders needed.

He glanced at the elf. Fenris had not moved from where he'd collapsed, though Anders could see the occasional tremor running through his body.

Perhaps it would be the best to make the night as normal as possible, Anders decided and turned to add more wood to the fire. A little food first, and then they'd sleep, and by morning, things would be back to normal and they could put this incident behind them and never speak of it again.

It did not work that way.

"You should eat," Anders said. He'd put pieces of bread and cheese on a plate, and now he pushed it a little closer to the elf.

Fenris shook his head and seemed to curl even more tightly into himself, forehead touching his knees as he clutched his blanket. Anders wanted to stroke his damp hair and tell him it would all be fine by morning, but Fenris would have not been able to find much comfort in that, and the touch would have done more harm than good.

With a heavy sigh, Anders turned back to his own plate and tried to focus on his food. He wished this would be over already, and no doubt Fenris wanted that even more.

As he ate, Fenris was still next to him, save for an occasional involuntary twitch. Sometimes he let out a barely-audible noise that, in other circumstances, would have sounded very good but here, only served to make the worry grow inside Anders until it was like a fist clenched around his heart and lungs.

With a half of his food still untouched, he pushed his plate away. He was supposed to be a healer and here he was, _useless_ , unable to do his job while his companion was suffering.

Fenris shifted, the hands gripping the blanket clenching, and whimpered again. It sounded more pained than anything else, and Anders gritted his teeth in frustration until his jaw hurt.

There was that one thing that would help, as he had acknowledged before they'd returned to the camp, taking out the effects of the pollen on someone else. And by someone else, Anders meant—

Well. There weren't that many options around, were there?

He hated himself a little for even thinking of that, but to his surprise, Justice didn't protest at the idea like Anders had expected—almost hoped.

It could be all right, as insane as it sounded.

Anders glanced at Fenris. It could also make things indefinitely worse if something went wrong.

He could get hurt.

Fenris could get hurt.

And they would both have to live with the memory of it for the rest of their lives, which may have been worse than anything else that could happen.

On the other hand, if Anders did nothing, Fenris would be like that until morning, and neither the elf nor Anders would sleep, Fenris because he couldn't, Anders out of sheer worry. The following day's walk would be both exhausting and dangerous, with neither of them in proper shape to defend themselves against possible enemies.

Something had to be done, and this was the only thing Anders could think of.

He gave himself one more moment to reconsider and back down, find one reason not to do this, to let Justice stop him.

Another one of those pained-sounding whimpers escaped Fenris's lips, and Anders' decision was made for him. Carefully, he shifted closer to the elf. His hands wanted to reach out, to touch Fenris's knee or cup his jaw and guide him to look up, but he thought it better not to touch, not yet.

"Fenris, look at me. Please."

Fenris shook his head.

"Please," Anders repeated. "We need to talk."

Slowly, the elf lifted his head. He glanced at the direction of Anders' face, just long enough for Anders to realise he'd bitten right through his bottom lip. There was enough blood on his chin to cover the lines of lyrium curving over it.

"Oh what have you done to your beautiful lip," Anders blurted.

He was reaching out with hand glowing with magic before he could even think anything beyond the horror of seeing that blood, so dark in the firelight. His fingers shook as he touched the tips to Fenris's lip—so much for not putting his hands on the elf before they'd talked it out, he realised—and let the healing magic sink into Fenris's flesh. Fenris shuddered and made a sound that did not sound pained at all, but did not push Anders' hand away.

It didn't take long, and relieved to see the damage gone, Anders lowered his hand. His fingertips were stained with Fenris's blood, and he wiped them clean to his trousers before reaching for a waterskin. Fenris did not resist as Anders wetted the corner of the elf's blanket and used it to wipe away the remaining blood.

"Much better," he said.

Fenris didn't answer, only looked down again.

"Would you show me your hands?" Anders asked. "I get the feeling you haven't treated them any better than your poor lip."

After a short hesitation, Fenris did, and Anders was damn glad Fenris had not been wearing his gauntlets. The marks his blunt nails had left were deep enough; Anders didn't even want to imagine what the steel claws would have done to his palms. Reached the bone, probably, and that was not a pleasant thought.

He called his magic again and let it erase the marks, and then used the damp edge of the blanket to wipe away the little bit of blood left on Fenris's skin.

"All right. That's better, isn't it?"

Fenris shook his head. The pain must have given him some semblance of control over his own body, but Anders was not going watch the elf hurt himself under any circumstances.

"I'm sorry," he said.

His hands itched to reach out for Fenris, wipe the elf's sweaty, tangled hair from his forehead, to hold him, calm him with gentle touch, but that would have had the opposite effect, and he'd already touched Fenris more than enough without permission. He sighed.

"Listen," he said. "If. Er. If someone offered to help you. You know. With this. Could you—do you think… Would you regret it afterwards?"

Fenris lifted his head a little. His eyes were dark in the flickering firelight as he met Anders' gaze before looking down again.

"What do you mean?" His voice was strained and rough.

"How—how capable are you of making decisions?"

Fenris didn't answer, only shrugged one shoulder and looked down again.

"What I'm saying is," Anders went on, "if I'll offer to have sex with you now and you'll agree, are you going to feel horrible about it and kill me in the morning?"

That may have not been the best way to present his point. Fenris's head jerked up again, his eyes wide.

"You cannot—no." He shook his head. "You are _mad_ , mage."

Being called _mage_ again was almost comfortingly familiar.

"Possibly. But either you let me help, or you're going to be, er, up all night."

Fenris twitched.

"I know this isn't ideal," Anders said. "In normal circumstances, I'd be your last choice, but right now, I'm the only option you have."

The elf turned to look at the fire and said nothing.

"Or," Anders continued, "I can just leave you alone for a bit and you can take care of it yourself. It won't help as much, but you'll feel a bit better after a few times."

Fenris swallowed and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, and Anders waited for his answer, silent. He didn't want to push, didn't want to do anything that would influence Fenris's decision. Either answer Fenris could give terrified him equally. He wanted to help, wanted Fenris's torment to be over, he _wanted_ , but he knew nothing would be the same if they did this.

"If I—if I start," Fenris said, voice shaking, anguished, "I don't know if I can stop." He met Anders' eyes for the briefest moment, desperation clear in his gaze before he looked away again. "I could hurt you. I do not want to hurt you."

"I won't let you," Anders told him. "For this once, trust me, Fenris."

The elf was quiet for a while, his gaze darting around, never settling on anything, especially not on Anders, and Anders kept waiting, quiet, nervous.

When Fenris finally spoke, his voice was no louder than a whisper. "All right."

Anders left Fenris kneeling by the fire while he made his preparations.

He spread Fenris's bedroll on one the side of their tent and the still-damp blanket Fenris had used to dry himself next to it and then, feeling a little foolish, undressed and sat on the blanket. He had trouble believing that this—all this, from the moment he'd found Fenris walking through those accursed flowers—was true, was happening, was not some crazy fever dream.

They were going to have sex. If Fenris did not suddenly change his mind, it would happen, tonight, here in this tent.

And it would not be anything like in those unwanted dreams Anders had had alone in the silence of his clinic, far too many times.

He shook his head to dispel that thought. Whatever dreams he may have had, they were not relevant, not now, not here.

Not anywhere, ever.

Digging through his belongings, he'd found a little bottle of relaxing herbal oil he used for muscle pain, and he opened it and poured some on his palm. Fenris would have hard time being careful with him; the elf couldn't, not in the state he was in, and though Anders didn't think he'd be in any kind of actual danger, he needed to be ready to accept what was coming, for both of their sakes.

Eyes closed, he laid down on his back on the damp blanket and reached between his legs. His hand trembled as he trailed a slicked finger around his opening before pushing it into his body, slowly, letting himself adjust. It had been a while since he'd done this, and he gave himself a few careful thrusts before adding another finger, filling himself as deep as he could.

It felt good, and soon, despite the strangeness of the situation, he was hardening. Out of habit, he curled his fingers, searched for the right place, rubbed, and the pleasure grew until it had him writhing and whimpering. The sound was so much like the ones Fenris had tried to suppress that for a moment, he lost track of what he was doing and could only lie there and pant, eyes closed, fingers deep inside his own body.

Aware that he couldn't afford to get distracted, shouldn't leave Fenris waiting for too long, he let his fingers slide out and wiped them on the edge of the blanket. He confirmed with Justice, one more time, and when the spirit still thought it was just, called Fenris's name.

He got no response, not a single sound. As lay on his back in the dark and tried to keep breathing steadily, waiting, he wondered how much he was going to regret this.


	3. One Fateful Night Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Life is difficult.

A faint rustle of unsteady footsteps was the only warning Anders got before the flap of the tent opened, letting in a bit of pale moonlight, and Fenris crawled in, beautiful, naked, hard.

The sight made it very difficult to focus on any possible future regrets.

Fenris took one look of Anders lying on his back, legs spread, and his entire body jerked. He squeezed his eyes shut, and Anders could hear his breaths shuddering, could see how his chest heaved.

"It's all right," Anders said. "Come here. It's all right, I promise."

Fenris did not move, did not even open his eyes. "Are you sure about this?" His voice shook. "You have to be sure. Anders, please."

That _please_ , in Fenris's voice, right after his name, did _things_ to Anders. He took what he'd meant to be a calming breath, and it filled his nose with Fenris's scent and turned out not to be calming at all.

"I'm sure," he answered, surprised at how steady the words sounded.

Fenris did not ask again. He opened his eyes and crawled to Anders, between his legs, one hand settling on Anders' hip so that Anders could feel the inactive lyrium on Fenris's palm. It made both him and Justice shiver in a way he had not expected. Fenris was panting above him, the wild look in his eyes visible in the faint light, and this was going to happen. They were about to have sex now.

Anders wasn't sure if either of them truly understood what they were doing, but there was no other way to help Fenris, so instead of asking questions, he reached for the oil again and pushed it into Fenris's hands. Without a word, Fenris poured some on his palm and spread it on himself. Equally silent, barely breathing, Anders waited, wondering if he was ready, if he could handle this, if he could ever return to normal after Fenris had touched him, given him what he'd yearned for, far too long.

It was too late for seconds thoughts now. Fenris's hand was gripping his thigh, fingers still slick with the oil, pushing it up towards his chest, and that was a sharp reminder of how much stronger the elf was than him, how easily Fenris could break him in half.

He was sure that should not have been a turn-on.

The slick tip of Fenris's hardness touched his opening, and that was all the warning Anders got before it began to push in, hot and thick. Anders tried to say something, he wasn't sure what, but Fenris snapped his hips forward and buried himself all the way in Anders' body with one rough stroke, and all he could do was to cry out at the sudden shock of it. His body clenched around the intrusion, fingertips digging into Fenris's arms. Atop of him, Fenris was shaking, eyes squeezed shut.

"I am—sorry. Didn't mean to … do that."

Anders forced his grip on Fenris's arms ease and tried to relax. "It's all right," he managed to say. "I'm fine."

It wasn't as much of a lie as he'd thought. He put both of his hands on Fenris's waist as his body began to adjust and the pain faded and turned into something else.

"Come on. Move."

Fenris took a shuddery breath and did exactly that. The next thrust was hard but not as rough as the previous one had been, and after a few more, Anders could feel pleasure beginning to grow inside him. Fenris filled him so well, right to the point of too much the way he'd always liked.

He stroked Fenris's sides as the elf kept slamming into him and allowed himself to enjoy this, just a little. It had been a while since he'd been with anyone, and he'd missed the warmth and closeness of it, the connection between two beings, artificial as it was here, with Fenris not quite himself.

The elf was oddly quiet, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he focused on chasing his own pleasure, eyes closed as he lost himself in Anders' body. Every thrust was brilliant, sent sparks up Anders' spine and left him panting and moaning. He wanted to touch himself, make it even better, but held back; Fenris would not be done after the first round, and Anders needed to be patient or he'd end up crying out for all the wrong reasons before Fenris was done.

Fenris's hips were picking up pace, all feverish need, and with Anders' body used to this now, it felt like bliss. He slid his hands down Fenris's back until he was cupping the curve of the elf's behind, encouraging the deep, merciless plunges into him, and Fenris took the hint, took him harder. Anders wrapped his legs around Fenris's hips, and it made the angle better and left him gasping, aching until he was not sure if he could hold back long enough for Fenris to finish.

Somehow, he did.

"Anders," Fenris choked out as he stiffened, and then he was spilling inside Anders, not once opening his eyes.

Anders would never be able to forget the sound of his own name on Fenris's lips.

He rubbed Fenris's back as the elf's entire body trembled, the touch careful and, he hoped, calming despite how much his own need to come ached inside him. The soft skin under his touch was warm.

After a long, quiet moment, Fenris opened his eyes. He was still hard inside Anders' body, and his eyes were black in the barely-there light.

"You don't have to stop," Anders told him.

Fenris let out a long, uneven breath. "You should not… I do not _have_ to…"

If Anders had told him to stop, he would have. Anders had not been sure about that, had been prepared to let Fenris do what his body demanded without resistance, to make it as comfortable as possible for Fenris, but it was a relief to know that if he'd said _no_ , Fenris would have stopped, difficult as it may have been.

That made it easy to trust himself in Fenris's hands.

Or perhaps it was only his own painful need to come, he couldn't be sure.

"I knew this would happen. It's all right. Just go on, I can take it."

Fenris looked at him for a while, but finally, took him for his word.

This time, it was a little slower, a little less frantic, but the pleasure burnt the same. Anders held on to the body above him, watched Fenris's face lost in pleasure. Frown lines, visible even in the faint light, had formed between the elf's eyebrows, and Anders wondered if they appeared there every time Fenris had sex with someone.

He would never know. After this, he'd never have Fenris again, never feel this soft skin and the lyrium in it under his hands and that thick hardness pressing into him, spreading him open.

Anders shoved those thoughts aside. He could get maudlin about the things he couldn't have when this was over. For now, he needed to keep his attention on Fenris, on what they were doing.

The elf made it easy. Each deep, firm thrust took Anders higher, and the aching need to come built inside him again after he'd denied himself for so long. He worked a hand between their bodies and wrapped it around his leaking hardness, body tightening at the sudden pleasure of it. As Anders began to stroke, he stared up into Fenris's eyes, and the elf stared right back at him. He looked wild and beautiful, and Anders was so completely full of him, wet with his come already, taken and claimed and owned.

Anders teetered on the edge of beautiful oblivion, and Fenris's next slide into his body hit him just right, so good, and he was _falling_. It seemed to travel up all the way from his very toes, near blinding in its intensity, and Anders cried out loud enough that some small, still-clear part of his mind was glad they were alone in the wilderness.

He barely registered it as Fenris let out a sharp, shaky noise, and then the elf was coming inside Anders for the second time. With considerable effort, Anders forced his eyes open in time to see Fenris's face twisted in near agonising pleasure, and it sent a jolt through his sated body.

Fenris stayed still inside him for a while afterwards, but finally, he slipped out. Anders could feel the elf's come trickle out after, cooling on his skin.

It wasn't as unpleasant as it could have been.

Gently, he pulled Fenris down and stroked his hair, let his fingers tangle into the sweaty white strands, and Fenris let out a little breath across his collarbone.

In other circumstances, Anders would have loved to fall asleep like this, with Fenris's weight on him, warm and comfortable. He felt an acute jab of guilt for enjoying this so much; Fenris was not himself, was not here, with Anders, because he wanted it, but because it was the only way to keep him from vibrating right out of his lyrium-branded skin.

For Anders, this was a barely-acknowledged dream come true. For Fenris, it was an unpleasant necessity.

"Better?" Anders asked, and found his voice sounding rough. He really had been screaming loud.

"I … am not sure," Fenris said. He pushed himself off Anders and knelt up, still shaking as he took a deep breath. Hair stuck to his forehead, and his fingers twitched at his sides. "I think—not."

One more round, then, Anders decided. He could take it.

"That's all right." He'd been saying that a lot tonight. "You can have me again."

Fenris shook his head and shuffled backwards on his knees. "I don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded strained.

"You won't." Anders rolled over, settled on his knees and elbows with his legs spread wide, very much on display. He could hear the noise Fenris made, sharp and full of need. "Do it."

Neither of them moved for a long, silent moment. Then Fenris's hands landed on his hips, their touch light. Anders shifted backwards, tilted his hips back, and Fenris mounted him, filled him again, easy and painless with Anders so relaxed and slick from the earlier rounds.

Fenris's hands stroked his skin, petted his sides and back, and heat flared through Anders. He accepted every single one of the elf's thrusts without protest, and soon, he was hardening again. It was too soon, but he was willing to take whatever Fenris had to give.

This was all he'd ever have, and he would let Fenris do whatever the elf needed.

He could hear Fenris's harsh breaths and the slap of skin on skin, and he braced himself the best he could on the blanket and arched his back, let himself to be used. Fenris's grip of his waist tightened as the elf pounded him harder and harder, his need clear in each shove into Anders, and Anders found himself proud he could still take it.

Even under the influence of the flowers, desperate for his own release, Fenris was good at what he did, seemed to find the best angle without even trying, and pleasure coursed through Anders. He reached between his legs, and the touch of his own hand was almost too much. For a moment, he imagined how it would have felt to have Fenris's hand there, rough, lyrium-marked palm against his skin.

Eyes squeezed shut, he stroked himself, fast, the need burning inside him nearly equal to what Fenris must have been feeling. It almost hurt, his body a little too sensitive for this, pushed beyond what he was used to, but all he could think was the urge to come.

It didn't take long before he was there again, drowning in sensation. He keened, high and desperate, as he spilled hot and slick over his fingers, body tightening around Fenris, and the elf made a sharp, pained noise and flattened him down to the blanket, hips flush with Anders' as he, too, found his peak.

Afterwards, Fenris whispered his name and clung to him, shivering, and Anders let him. He could still feel the elf's lyrium, warmer than Fenris himself, tingling pleasantly, leaving even Justice silent and content. Fenris's mouth touched his back, his breath cooling the sweat on Anders' skin.

This could have almost been real.

Almost.

Slowly, Fenris's breathing steadied and he stopped shaking, but he didn't show any signs of getting off Anders. Anders tried to look over his shoulder at him, but with the elf pressed to his back the way he was, Anders couldn't see much beyond his hair and the curve of one shoulder in the dark.

"Better now?" he asked, and prayed the answer was yes. If Fenris was not done, Anders would let himself to be taken once more, but it would not feel good anymore. Enjoyable as it had been, his body was throbbing from use and needed nothing as much as rest, though he would not say that to Fenris.

He'd promised to help and he would do it, even if it was not pleasant for him.

"I think … yes," Fenris answered after a short silence.

Anders breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good. Think you can sleep for a little while?"

"I—yes. I…" He didn't finish whatever he may have planned to say, instead lifting himself off Anders, and Anders rolled over. Fenris was not looking anywhere towards him, and worry raised its head inside Anders again.

"Are you all right?" he had to ask.

Fenris nodded. It wasn't particularly convincing.

"Hey." Anders sat up and reached out to push a few strands of sweaty hair off the elf's forehead. It felt odd to be so gentle with Fenris, and he tried not to think how much he enjoyed it. "It'll be fine. Just go to sleep, all right?"

Fenris nodded again. He still wasn't meeting Anders' eyes, and Anders knew that was not a good thing, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Reality was returning, the bliss faded already, and they both would have to learn to live with what they had done.

"It'll be fine," he repeated, but he wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to Fenris.

Fenris didn't answer. With a quiet sigh, Anders gathered his clothes and slipped out of the tent.


	4. Consequences

The fire had burnt down to faintly glowing embers sometime before, and the moon was Anders' only light as he cleaned himself up outside the tent. His lower back ached and his knees didn't feel entirely steady, and he had to grit his teeth as he dragged on his clothes. He wanted to curl onto his bedroll next to Fenris and _sleep_ , for weeks if possible, but that was out of the question.

Right now, he had something important he needed to do.

A quick peek into the tent confirmed that Fenris was asleep, breathing slow and steady, his face calm and relaxed, and grateful for that little mercy, Anders headed away from the camp.

As he walked through the grass that swayed in the light breeze, he was glad he had the support of his staff. He wasn't going far, but his legs protested on each step and exhaustion weighed down his feet.

The white of the flowers seemed to glow in the moonlight when Anders reached them, their red centres pitch-dark. They could have looked beautiful, had he not known what they were, what they could do to any unfortunate soul wandering into their midst.

Anders didn't need Justice to tell him that their existence was not justified. No one else was going to get hurt because of them after this, Anders was going to make sure of that.

He swung his staff in a large arch, and fire followed, orange and golden and painfully bright in the dark of the night.

Not a single snow-white petal survived.

The walk back to the camp was worse than the walk away from it. Warden stamina and Justice's help only got him so far, and both Anders' mind and body demanded rest he could not allow them; someone had to keep watch, and he was not going to make Fenris do that. As drained as Anders felt, Fenris must have had it much worse after his ordeal, and Anders was going to let him sleep as much as he needed, even though it meant staying awake all night himself.

He laid his staff down by the tent and looked inside. Fenris blinked his bleary eyes open and lifted his head.

"You all right?" Anders asked.

Slowly, Fenris nodded. Anders gave him a reassuring smile, though he was not sure if helped. "Good. Go back to sleep now. It'll do you good."

"I feel like I should—" Fenris started, sounding awkward, but Anders interrupted him.

"It's all right. Forget it. Just go to sleep. We've still got two days of walking ahead of us before we're back home, and you have to rest now."

Fenris looked at him for a while, face unreadable in the dark, and then curled into himself under his blanket and closed his eyes.

Anders let the tent flap fall from his hand and sat down on the ground next to it. His eyelids were heavy as lead, but he forced them to stay open. He couldn't afford the luxury of sleep, with Fenris still so vulnerable and the night dark and unpredictable around them. It was his responsibility to stay awake and keep them both safe for now.

He sat there, on the flattened grass beside the tent, looking up to the star-dotted sky, and hoped that whatever consequences this had, they would be able to deal with those.

Anders woke up to find Fenris standing on the other side of the cold remains of their fire, fully dressed, his sword strapped to his back.

Cursing under his breath, Anders staggered to his feet, supported by his staff. He had not meant to fall asleep. Anyone or anything could have attacked them during the night when he'd not been keeping watch. _Stupid useless bastard_ , he told himself.

"Fenris?" he said aloud.

The elf jumped a little but did not turn around. Wind picked at his hair, and his fingers twitched at his side. "We should leave," he said, voice distant.

"Sure," Anders answered. Coldness began to settle into his gut as he watched the elf's tense back. "Are you all right?"

Fenris laughed, a strange, ugly sound that made Anders flinch.

"Are you really asking me that?" Fenris shook his head before he finally turned to look at Anders—or at least vaguely to his direction. His face was full of so much emotion Anders couldn't read any of it, though none of it could be good, and dark shadows marred the soft skin under his eyes. "I am sorry."

"What?" Anders stared at Fenris as Justice's worry joined his own. "You've got nothing—"

"We need to leave," Fenris interrupted him.

Anders did not want to leave. He wanted to have a proper talk, because it was clear Fenris had not taken the previous night's events as well as Anders had hoped, but the elf did not look willing to let Anders anywhere near him, and Anders was not going to push. It seemed he'd already crossed more than enough boundaries, and forcing Fenris to talk to him, to pay any attention to him when the elf did not want it, would have been cruel now.

Silently, they packed their belongings and dissembled their tent. Anders was careful to keep his distance, because if he got too close to Fenris, the elf flinched as if he thought Anders would hit him—or worse, demand things he had never had any right to take.

Useless as it was, he was beginning to wish he had not touched Fenris the night before at all and let the effect of the flowers fade on its own.

They spent that day walking in tense silence, Anders ahead, Fenris following several dozen steps behind.

With each passing moment, Anders hated himself a little more. Guilt gnawed at his insides like a particularly angry worm, so much worse than the lingering disquiet he'd always felt after the fantasies he'd dared to have alone in his bed. He had meant to help, and for a little while, he'd been sure that he'd made the right decision, that he'd made things better. When Fenris had fallen asleep, finally calm, he'd thought it had been worth it.

Now, it was clear he had been wrong. He had upset Fenris, hurt him.

Anders' body was still aching, both because he'd sat on the cold ground all night and because being taken three times took its toll on a man, no matter how good it had felt when it had happened. He had no interest in healing any of it either; this was his penance for doing what he should have never done.

Anders had wanted that too much, wanted Fenris too much, long before the elf had waded into those ill-fated flowers. He'd done what he'd done to help Fenris, but also because he had known he'd never get the chance again.

Perhaps that made him the sort of monster Fenris had always thought him to be, but he doubted the elf was happy to have that proof now.

He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. _You can kill me once we're through this_ , he'd said, before he'd even thought of making his disastrous offer. Now he wondered if Fenris was considering it. He almost wished Fenris would walk faster, catch up with him, yell at him, punish him for what had essentially been—

He couldn't force himself to finish that sentence.

Justice had thought it would be fine. The spirit had considered it just.

But perhaps his judgement was not to be trusted anymore. Anders had carried Justice inside him for a long while, maybe long enough to corrupt him, taint the spirit with his own human flaws. Things bled through the connection between them, feelings, desires, thoughts they didn't always mean to share with each other. It was possible Justice had only believed it to be acceptable because Anders had wanted it so very much.

He did not know, Justice did not know, and it made them both ache with guilt and sorrow. Neither of them had ever meant to hurt Fenris in any way.

And yet, Anders had ended up doing exactly that.

 _Did I do the right thing?_ he asked Justice. _Was **anything** I did last night right?_

The spirit did not answer. That was not comforting.


	5. Guilt and Shock

That day, they walked much longer than they usually would have, and the sun had already set by the time they finally stopped to rest for the night.

Anders took care of pitching their tent while Fenris lit them a small fire. The elf was still careful to stay away from Anders, and it _hurt_. Anders had had good intentions, but it didn't change the fact that he'd done damage he would never be able to heal, no matter how much he wanted to. Even if he had all the magic in the world, he couldn't take Fenris's pain away.

He was worse than useless as a healer, harming when he'd meant to help.

They ate in silence, sitting on the opposite sides of the fire. Anders found himself glancing at Fenris every now and then, but the elf stayed huddled into himself and never looked at his direction.

The distance and silence were worse than any well-earned hatred would have been. During the day, Anders had come to terms with how badly he'd fucked up, putting his worthless hands on Fenris's skin. He knew he would have deserved to atone for it with blood and bruises and broken bones, but Fenris couldn't even bear to look at him.

If Fenris had chosen to take his heart for what he'd done, he would have not had the right to put up a fight. He didn't think even Justice would defend him against Fenris, not in this case, but rather than being angry, Fenris was quiet and withdrawn.

Defeated.

What Anders had done to him had broken something, and Anders wondered if there would ever be a way for Fenris to return to normal. The elf was a fighter, a survivor, stubborn and strong and resilient, but everyone had their limits.

Perhaps this had been it for Fenris.

"I will take the watch," Fenris informed him once they were done eating; the first words he'd said to Anders after the morning.

Anders wanted to argue, but he wasn't sure what the point would have been. Fenris was not going to change his mind, and Anders had no right to make any demands anyway.

He'd already demanded far more than he ever should have.

Silently, he crawled into the tent and spread his bedroll. He was exhausted, even more so than on the previous night, and his body needed sleep, but in his head, everything was too loud and jumbled, the guilt and self-hatred burning inside him, keeping him awake.

Justice, equally pained and full of confusion and self-doubt Anders had never known the spirit to express, wasn't helping. Anders was so very tempted let Justice take the blame for it all, and the spirit knew it and did not judge him for. _You told me it would be fine_ , he wanted to say. _You were supposed to know better, to be above human error._

He knew it wasn't right; in the end, the idea as well as the choice had been Anders'. Justice could have stopped him, but even coming up with it had already proven Anders more deeply flawed than he'd thought.

In the end, instead of blaming the spirit, Anders made an attempt to console him— _not your fault, mine_ —but Justice wasn't listening, and he supposed any comfort would have been empty anyway. They had failed both themselves and Fenris.

He curled more tightly into himself in the dark.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Fenris's face above him, eyes closed and lips parted, perfect and flawless and not there because he had wanted it.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, staring at the wall of the tent with unseeing eyes, until sleep finally had the mercy to claim him.

Anders woke up with the vague memory of battle-roughened but gentle hands on his skin, and for a blessed moment, everything was fine.

The moment didn't last long. Reality returned, and with it, the guilt and self-loathing.

Anders was no better than Fenris's past master. He didn't know, not for sure, what Fenris had endured in the hands of the magister, but it was possible Anders had ripped open old, barely-healed wounds, instead of only cutting new ones.

If Fenris had been on his right mind, he would have never accepted the touch of a mage.

Slowly, Anders realised it wasn't pitch-dark in the tent anymore. Fenris had not woken him up to take his watch, and he'd slept almost all night while the elf had stood outside.

Still a little disoriented from sleep, Anders dragged himself up and staggered out of the tent. Fenris turned to glance at his direction, and Anders reminded himself not to get too close to the elf.

He wanted to talk, to explain, to break down and show he knew how wrong he had been, but Fenris didn't seem to want any of that, and any words would sound empty anyway, no matter how much Anders meant them.

And Maker, Fenris had apologised to _him_. As if it had been his fault that Anders had been a greedy, selfish idiot. Fenris was the victim, and though the elf would have no doubt objected the use of that word, it didn't change the truth of it.

"You should have woken me up," Anders said.

Fenris didn't answer.

"You need get some sleep too," Anders continued, voice gentle and careful.

Fenris shook his head. "I am fine."

"You can't walk all day today if you don't sleep at all," Anders insisted. "Fenris please. It's not—it's not safe for you to be so tired."

"No," Fenris said.

Perhaps he feared nightmares, or perhaps he didn't trust Anders when he was asleep and vulnerable, but Anders couldn't allow him to stay up all night and then all day too, especially when he already had one badly-slept night weighing him down. It wasn't his place to take care of Fenris—that was as empty as an apology would be—but he couldn't watch the elf torture himself either.

"Go to sleep. Just for a little while. Please."

For a moment, he was sure Fenris would keep arguing, but eventually, the elf turned towards the tent. They gave each other a wide berth, Anders backing off as Fenris came closer, and Anders looked the other way as the elf slipped into the tent.

 _I'm sorry_ , he thought, but did not say.

It would be for the best not to bring the whole thing up at all, not so soon. It seemed like Fenris wanted to forget, and any apologies would only drag back memories the elf could not wish to keep. As justified as expressing his regret would have been, both on his and Justice's opinion, it would not do any good besides easing their own guilt a fraction, if they were lucky.

If Fenris ever was ready to talk to Anders, or to take his well-deserved anger out on him, verbally or physically, _then_ Anders would offer his apologies. Not to stop whatever punishment Fenris deemed necessary, but to prove he knew how badly he'd fucked up.

And then, if Anders survived that, he would have to keep living with his regrets, because there were no words that would ever take them away.

In the meantime, Anders would have to accept what he'd done and learn from it, and to make Fenris's life as easy as possible. He would stay away from Fenris, even after they got back home, and he would make sure Hawke never took them both with her to one of her quests, and stay in Darktown as much as possible, out of sight and, he hoped, out of mind.

That had to be good enough.

Fenris slept past midday, and Anders let him. They could still make it to Kirkwall before the nightfall, and Fenris needed the rest after what he'd been through.

When the elf finally crawled out of the tent, he seemed bleary-eyed and disoriented, and Anders wanted to tell him to sit down and give himself a moment, but Fenris didn't look like he would welcome advice. Not from Anders, at least.

And since when Anders had had this urge to take care of the elf anyway? No matter how much he'd wanted Fenris before the flower disaster—and it had been more than he'd been willing to acknowledge—he'd never felt protective. Fenris was not the type to need or want anyone's protection.

It was, Anders suspected, nothing but a useless, unwanted attempt to make amends.

Fenris looked at him, something desperate in his still-hazy eyes. _Just say it_ , Anders wanted to tell him. _Say whatever you have to say. Hit me if it makes you feel better_.

The elf turned his back to Anders and began to collect their belongings.

Kirkwall rose ahead of them late that evening.

That was it then. They'd done what Hawke had sent them to do, and it had only cost Anders any chance to ever get along with Fenris again. Their supposed bonding experience had turned out to be the exact opposite.

He wished he could blame it all on Hawke, but that would have not been fair. She could have chosen not to play her games and sent anyone else—Maker, she could have gotten whatever she'd been busy doing done and taken the trip herself—but she had not known about the flowers, had not expected anything out of the ordinary to happen. Of course she'd been an idiot to think anything good could have come out of her plan, but she could have never known that Anders would betray both himself and Fenris the way he had.

If she had known, she would have protected Fenris and not sent the elf along with Anders.

Now, she would probably kill him once she found out what he had done, and that would be a merciful end for him.

Fenris caught up with Anders a little before they entered the city, and Anders felt his heartbeat picking up as he stopped walking and turned to look at the elf. He took a deep, steadying breath and wished he had the words to express even a fraction of his regrets.

"I…" Fenris hesitated, gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. "I—I should have done this much sooner, properly, but I have been too horrified by what I did to you."

He lifted his head enough to meet Anders' eyes, and the naked desperation in his gaze was like a punch to the chest before he looked back down again. When he continued, his voice was monotonous, as if he'd practiced the words for hours and was in a rush to get them out now.

"I have been a coward, but I would like to apologise for what I did to you. I was not thinking clearly, though that is no excuse. I know it changes nothing, but I am sorry for touching you in the manner I did, and for taking so long to talk to you."

 _That's my line_ , Anders wanted to say. "You did nothing wrong," he offered instead. "You've got nothing to apologise for. It was my idea. _I_ should—"

"Yes," Fenris interrupted him, "but I don't believe you realised—you didn't expect me to—" His words faltered.

"Have me three times?" Anders offered. Fenris twitched. "I was aware of the possibility. None of that was your fault. Fenris—"

"I never wanted it like that," Fenris said quietly, voice trembling.

Anders felt a little cold. Of course the elf had not wanted it like that, with Anders of all beings, while not in complete control of his own choices, let alone his body, but though he had known it already, hearing Fenris say the words twisted the knife of guilt inside him.

"I know. I should have never—"

Fenris interrupted him again. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I hope I didn't cause you too much pain." His eyes stayed focused on the ground, and he looked so small and frail, not at all like the steely, powerful creature Anders knew him to be.

"It was _fine_ , Fenris. Did I _seem_ to be in pain to you?"

Fenris twitched again. Anders should have not said that. He sighed.

"None of that was your fault. You should not blame yourself for something you did not cause. I—"

"So you do not hate me for—for—"

"No," Anders said emphatically. "I don't hate you for that."

Fenris let out a breath. "All right. That … that is good." He glanced at Anders and then away again. "I _am_ sorry, for what it is worth," he finished, and turned to walk away.

He'd taken several steps before Anders realised he could, perhaps, offer his own, much more needed apologies without interruptions now.

"Fenris," he called after the elf.

Fenris stopped. He stood still, his back to Anders, tense, hands clenched into fists. Anders took a step closer and opened his mouth, but once again, Fenris did not give him the chance to speak.

"I didn't even get to kiss you."

And with that, the elf slipped away, leaving Anders standing alone outside the city.


	6. What We Did Not Have

Anders spent an unforgivably long time frozen, staring in front of him with unseeing eyes, his mind blank. It took Justice giving him a sharp nudge to realise he should have gone after Fenris, immediately.

His heart in his throat, he rushed to the direction the elf had disappeared.

_I didn't even get to kiss you._

The words echoed in his head again and again, in time with his unsteady footsteps, burnt into his memory. They filled both him and Justice with fear and yearning and desperate hope.

Fenris may have actually wanted to kiss him.

Fenris, who hated him. Who said _mage_ as if it were a curse and called him an abomination every chance he got.

Fenris, who had breathed out Anders' name when he came inside Anders in a dark tent in the middle of nowhere.

Anders was almost certain now that the distance Fenris had put between them had not been there because he'd been horrified of what Anders had done to him, but because he had thought he'd violated Anders and had been struggling with the same kind of shame that had been eating Anders from the inside. They'd both tried to protect each other, and by doing that, they had only caused more pain.

Maker, they really should have talked that first morning. It could have saved them from so much suffering, but they had both been cowards, both too caught up in their own guilt and fear.

He needed to speak with Fenris now, to make things right. Fenris had not wanted to be with Anders _like that_ , under the influence of the flowers, but he could have, perhaps, wanted in in some other circumstances.

Anders would arrange any circumstances needed, no matter how impossible, if it got him a kiss from Fenris.

Justice told him not to get ahead of himself. They needed to settle the situation first, to talk and understand each other. No kisses could happen before that, if they would happen at all, Anders knew that too.

He ran all the way up to Hightown, stumbling on the stairs in his hurry. He wished he would catch up with Fenris on the way, but there was no sign of the elf, and he was panting, breathless, with black dots dancing in front of his eyes by the time he reached Fenris's mansion.

Hand shaking, he knocked on the door.

There was no response.

_I didn't even get to kiss you._

It wasn't fair to say something like that to a man, only to run away right after. Fenris had turned Anders' world upside down with a few words, and Anders would not be able to right it with the elf not there.

He knocked again, a little louder, a little more insistent, and still got no answer beyond a deep, echoing silence.

Desperate, he knocked once more before resting his forehead against the cool wood. "Please, Fenris," he said, aware that his voice was far too quiet for the elf to hear, even if he was inside, even if he was hiding right on the other side of the door. "Please."

Nothing happened.

Anders kept standing there for a while longer, forehead pressed against the door as if the force of his thoughts could summon Fenris, but eventually, he had to admit defeat.

He was almost tempted to go to Hawke and ask for her help. If Fenris was home, he would open the door for her, even when he did not do it for Anders. Saying no to her, as Anders knew from experience, was not easy.

That would, however, mean telling her at least something of what had happened between Fenris and him, and Anders was not willing to do that. Even if he left out the worst of it, or most of it, she would ask too many questions. Though Anders was almost sure Hawke and the others wouldn't kill him for what he had done, now that it seemed Fenris did not consider Anders a monster, it was a private matter and the less anyone heard about it, the better.

It was safest not to involve Hawke, not yet.

If he couldn't talk for Fenris for a day or two, then he'd have to take the help of her and Varric and anyone else he could think of, he decided as he turned away from the stubbornly closed door, but for now, he could still try to solve the situation on his own.

His feet felt heavy as dragged himself to Darktown and to the quiet darkness of his clinic. When the door finally closed behind his back, he leant against it and closed his eyes, body and mind exhausted.

He'd been so angry with himself the first time Justice had forced him to admit he found Fenris attractive. The elf was the last being Anders should have ever wanted. He was undeniably beautiful, not to mention covered in tempting lyrium both Anders and his spirit could appreciate, but slowly, Anders had figured he was much more than that. Fenris was clever, strong, loyal to those he deemed worth it, protective, and, when he chose to, even funny. He encompassed so many things Anders had always fallen for, despite being an utter bastard, and that was not fair.

And now, when it finally seemed that the elf could reciprocate his desire, the idiot had decided to disappear completely.

Anders let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that whenever he caught a glimpse of a good thing, he had to struggle for it with no guarantee that he would ever have it.

Gathering enough strength to push himself away from the door took a while. When Anders finally managed it and tossed his pack on one of the empty cots, it occurred to him that perhaps he should have let Hawke know that they were back, but he didn't have the energy to face her now. She would hear about it soon anyway, through Varric or some means of her own, and that would have to be good enough.

Anders sat on the edge of his rickety bed, pressed the heels of his hands on his eyes. He'd had a long few days, as had Fenris. It would have been good if they could have finally solved it all, talked it out. He wanted nothing more than to make things right, end this pain and uncertainty, for both of their sakes. Perhaps it wouldn't be easy, but even then, it would make a difference. Whatever happened, they would be able to move forward, somehow.

Sighing again, he kicked off his boots and lay down on his back.

_I didn't even get to kiss you._

Maker, how much he wanted that kiss.

There was no guarantee he'd ever have it, but that didn't stop him from wanting. He doubted anything would ever stop him from wanting, not even his own inevitable death.

As he fell asleep, he really hoped Fenris still wanted it too.

Anders woke up with a vague memory of a soft, eager mouth on his, of calloused hands trailing over his skin and a warm body pressed against his own.

Another dream, already fading, and he wished it to be real so hard it hurt. He wanted to run straight up to Hightown and to the elf's mansion to have it, to replace their one imperfect night together with something better, something real.

With obvious reluctance, Justice reminded him that they had more important things to do. They'd been gone for a while, and no matter how much both Anders and Justice wanted to make things right with Fenris, Anders' patients had to take precedence. Nothing in the world could justify neglecting them any longer.

The spirit was right, and slowly, Anders dragged himself out of the bed, got dressed in a clean set of clothes, ate a piece of bread, and headed to the door to light his lantern. Though he was dying to find Fenris, his responsibilities came first. He'd dealt with enough guilt over the previous days; he didn't need to feel guilty because he'd let down the people who relied on his help. He would work, focus his energy on his patients for the day, and when the evening came and he could blow out the lantern, he would go to Fenris.

Until then, he would have to tolerate the worry over the elf that was slowly driving him crazy.

The word of Anders being back at work spread, and the day passed quickly as he took care of the steady flow of the unfortunate of Kirkwall. His thoughts were still on Fenris, but he was a good healer, and as much of a distraction as that was, Anders did his job well. He may have failed to answer a question or two at times, but his patients, forgiving people that they were, repeated what they'd said, and the second time, Anders usually managed to pay attention.

Evening arrived faster than he would have imagined, and finally, Anders let the last patient out of the door. He was tired, but determinate to do what needed to be done. After a long day of mending physical wounds, it seemed only appropriate to go to mend the lingering mental ones now.

Anders ate, gave himself a thorough wash—he had a feeling Fenris would appreciate if he didn't smell like he'd spent days on the road and then worked a full day at his clinic—and headed out and towards Hightown and Fenris's mansion. While he'd been working, he'd decided he would not give up until they could talk, not even if it took him all night to find Fenris. He was done waiting and would not let the elf hide any longer when it was only hurting them both.


	7. One Chance to Make It Right

Fenris's derelict mansion seemed dark and empty as Anders knocked on the door, but it always did. He waited, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and when nothing happened for a while, knocked again, a little louder this time to make sure Fenris had to hear it.

The results were not better than they had been the day before. Either Fenris was not at home, or he was and refused to open the door for Anders.

He sighed and turned to lean against the door, wondering if from some window, Fenris was watching, waiting him to leave, filled with the same dark, overwhelming feelings Anders had been struggling with for the past few days. He was almost tempted to knock the damn door down instead of just knocking on it like a polite person so he could settle this, but it would have drawn too much attention and put Fenris in danger, and if the elf had not been home after all, it would have been particularly awkward. It was better to avoid causing further damage; the mansion wasn't much, but it was Fenris's safe place, the only home he had here, and Anders wanted it to remain that way.

Anders stepped away from the door and decided he was desperate enough to go to Hawke. He would just ask if she knew where Fenris was and tell her as little as he could. She had a way of wheedling information out of others, of course, but that was a risk Anders was willing to take if it got him in touch with Fenris.

To Anders' frustration, Hawke wasn't home either, but her servants told him she'd gone to the Hanged Man, and determinate to get something done, Anders headed to Lowtown.

The streets were quiet around him as he walked, most beings in the relative safety of their homes already, though there were always a few drunks around, along with those willing to take advantage of them. Anders stayed alert and out of the way, unwilling to draw any attention to himself. He was always acutely aware of how vulnerable he was alone in the streets, unable to use his magic without putting himself in worse danger and with a limited ability to fight without it.

Fortunately, he arrived to the Hanged Man without an incident. The first thing he saw as he stepped in was Fenris, sitting at their usual table with Hawke, Merrill, Aveline and Varric. Fenris's back was towards the door, and Anders' heart almost stopped at the sight of him. The elf was as beautiful as always, his white hair like a beacon in the dim light, and as sure as Anders had been about making things right, he found himself filled with trepidation. How could have he ever thought he'd have a chance with someone like Fenris? He should leave the elf alone—

Justice told him to stop being an idiot and get this done with, no matter what happened, and Anders forced himself to walk towards his companions.

Hawke noticed Anders first as he made his way towards the table and called his name, and Anders could see Fenris's entire body tensing, as if preparing for attack. Anders never wanted to see that again.

"You weren't at your clinic when I checked," Hawke said, grinning at him. "I'm glad you were coming here anyway."

Anders managed a distracted smile at her direction before turning to Fenris.

"We need to talk," he said, and then immediately realised how badly his choice of words could be misinterpreted when Fenris flinched as if he'd been slapped. "Er. Not like that. Sorry. But—but we do."

He could feel everyone's eyes on him—except for Fenris's.

"Do we?" the elf asked, staring straight ahead.

"Yes, we do. We need to make this right." Anders tried to sound calm and confident and perhaps even reassuring, and didn't manage any of those. "In private."

Fenris's hand twitched on the table and he said nothing.

Varric was looking from one of them to the other. "Am I going to regret it if I offer to let you use my room?"

Fenris threw a wild look towards the dwarf, and Varric's eyes narrowed and filled with suspicion.

"What's going on?" he asked, Hawke's voice echoing his.

"We just need to talk," Anders said. "It's all right." He turned to look at Fenris. "It's all right, I swear."

"Broody?" Varric asked.

Fenris took a breath, and Anders held his own. "It's all right," Fenris said.

They made their way up to Varric's room in silence, Anders ahead, Fenris following behind. Anders could feel his heart beating in his chest, far too fast, but tried to keep his face neutral as he opened the door and allowed Fenris in ahead of him. He shut the door behind his back and stayed close to it, leaving good four steps between himself and Fenris. The last thing he wanted to do was to invade the elf's space; this was not the time to make Fenris uncomfortable.

Fenris looked uncertain if he wanted to be apologetic or confrontational, and Anders didn't care for either, but he wasn't sure how to start this conversation. He'd had something planned, some sort of a convincing, thoughtful speech, but here, alone with Fenris, he didn't know what to say.

"I … was surprised to find you here," he offered.

"Hawke insisted," Fenris said, voice tense. "She can be stubborn."

"Maker knows she can be."

They lapsed back into awkward silence, Fenris staring at the wall a little left from Anders, Anders looking at the elf from the corner of his eye. Twice, Anders opened his mouth to say something, and twice, he closed it without uttering a word. Fenris shifted on his feet, glanced at him, and then at the door.

"I wanted that kiss," Anders blurted before the elf got any ideas of walking out of the room and leaving Anders there alone.

Fenris turned to stare at him, eyes wide.

"What?" The word was so quiet Anders couldn't hear it, only saw Fenris's lips form it. "Please, don't—"

"I may not have realised how much I wanted it then," Anders continued, voice shaking, "but if you had kissed me, I would have let you. I would have kissed you back. I'd let you kiss me every day for the rest of my life if—if you wanted."

He expected Fenris to run straight out of the door, but the elf stayed where he was. Anders gathered his courage and took a step closer, and Fenris didn't back off.

"The thing is," Anders continued when Fenris still said nothing, "this whole time, I felt like I took advantage of you. But if you wanted to kiss me, then—"

Fenris looked at him. "How could you have taken advantage of me when I was the one—when I was—when I—" He didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.

"Fenris," Anders said. "I _offered_. It was my idea. You only did what I told you you could." He was silent for a moment before adding, voice very quiet, "If it had been someone else, I don't think I would've offered at all."

Fenris didn't answer immediately, his eyes searching Anders'. "If it had been someone else," he said finally, softly, "I don't think I would have accepted." He closed his eyes and took a breath. "I have wanted you long before the—the flowers."

Anders swallowed as Justice's elation flashed through him like fire. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his throat was too tight, his mouth dry. It was too good, far too good to be real, and still Fenris was standing right there in front of him instead of fading away like a mirage.

"Anders?" Fenris said when Anders had been quiet for a while, and suddenly Anders remembered how Fenris had called his name in the dark tent. The memory filled him, made him want to take Fenris in his arms and never let go.

"You were supposed to hate me," he said instead, and wondered if he was intentionally trying to sabotage his own chances with Fenris.

The elf looked away, hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Anger is more comfortable than fear, isn't it?" he asked. "It is easier to hate than to dread."

Most of those who had hated Anders had done it out of fear, he knew that. Slowly, he nodded.

"I know it isn't fair," Fenris continued, voice very quiet. "But I have feared you, and your … your spirit, and I have feared my need for you, and it has always been so difficult to admit that. It has been so very easy to hate."

Anders nodded again.

"And then you gave yourself to me when I needed you the most, when I was going mad with it and everything hurt but _you_ , and I—" Fenris's throat moved as he swallowed. "When we sat by the fire, I could feel you next to me, constantly. Everything in me demanded to throw you down and have you to sate that painful need—"

Fenris paused, took a breath, closed his eyes. His fingers twitched, and Anders thought of him on his knees, curled into himself, trembling as the clung to his blanket and the traces of his control.

"I do not think anything could have been more frightening than your offer," Fenris continued, eyes still closed. It seemed talking was easier for him like that. "All I had ever wanted, within my reach, but _wrong_. You don't know how beautiful you were at that moment, all copper and gold in the firelight, and I hated you for offering, and I already knew how much I would hate myself for taking what I had no right to take."

Anders wanted to hug him.

"No," he said. "You had the right. I wanted you to. I wanted you." _I still want you_.

Fenris opened his eyes and glanced at Anders through the strands of hair falling to his face. Anders' finger itched to swipe that silky fringe off the elf's forehead.

"Why?" Fenris asked quietly. "Why would you ever want me? I have not treated you well. I have been unjustly cruel."

"We started off on the wrong foot," Anders acknowledged. "Neither of us is innocent here."

Fenris looked at him again, and the elf's eyes seemed so dark. "Yes, but—"

"Do you want me to tell you how beautiful I find you?" Anders interrupted him. "How much I like your sense of humour, how much I admire your strength and loyalty? Sometimes you let me see the good under the hate, and I like it. I've seen how much we are—how much we are alike, in the end."

Slowly, Fenris nodded. "I know we are. And you are—you are very … you."

Anders almost laughed at that. "I suppose I am."

"It is a good thing," Fenris said.

He had a strange way of offering compliments, but Anders didn't mind.

"Is it good enough," Anders asked, aware that he had a habit of pushing too hard but unable to hold back, "that you would still like to give me that kiss?"

As if drawn by some invisible force, Fenris took a step closer, his gauntleted fingers flexing at his side as if he wanted to reach out and touch.

"You are an idiot," he said, but it barely sounded like an insult.

"Probably," Anders agreed. "An idiot who rather likes you a lot and would like to—to be with you, I suppose," he finished, and then immediately decided he was even more of an idiot to say that. Asking for a kiss was one thing; asking for any sort of relationship was another.

To his relief, Fenris looked as if he wanted to say yes, as if he was holding himself back from crossing the few steps left between them instead of punching him or doing him some kind of permanent damage.

"We have had a terrible beginning for anything … more," Fenris said. "We will have to live with the knowledge that the first time I had you, we were not even friends. It was not what either of us truly wanted then."

Anders wasn't going to deny that. What had happened between them was not the stuff great romances were made of.

But.

"Think of it like this," he said, "it can only get better. This didn't start the way it should have, but we can make it right."

The corners of that lovely mouth that looked so unused to smiling curved up, and Anders' knees felt a little weak.

"Idiot," Fenris repeated, but fondly.

"I could be your idiot," Anders offered.

Fenris took a deep breath, and with his heart thundering in his chest, Justice tense inside him, Anders waited for the elf's answer.


	8. Things Have Changed

Fenris stayed quiet so long Anders was certain he would refuse him.

"I should not accept," the elf said, his large, dark eyes focused on Anders'. "But I will."

Relief spread through Anders' body, filled him and Justice with warmth, and he couldn't help it anymore; he crossed the remaining few steps between them and pulled Fenris into his arms. The elf made a surprised noise but leant into Anders' hold, warm and solid and willingly there, and Anders was certain he'd never been this happy. He buried his nose in Fenris's hair, silky and smelling ridiculously good and familiar, clung to the elf, and Fenris's arms came to wrap around his waist, their hold firm and steady.

"I felt so guilty," Fenris whispered into his ear. "For hurting you. For using you."

Anders pulled the elf closer. "Me too." He nuzzled Fenris's temple. "But it wasn't like that. I'm sorry we didn't just … talk."

Fenris sighed, a hand clenching where it was resting on Anders' side. "Idiots, we both are," he said.

They stood like that, bodies pressed together, arms around each other, for a long while, and it may have been the best thing that had ever happened to Anders.

Finally, Fenris turned his head, and his lips brushed Anders' jawline. "Could I have that kiss now?"

Anders should have said _no_. They were in Varric's room, with their friends waiting downstairs, but he wanted it too much to refuse.

" _Yes_ ," he breathed, and then Fenris's mouth was already on his.

The kiss was harder than he'd expected, demanding, much better than the one he vaguely remembered from his dream, and Anders submitted. He let Fenris have his mouth, to have him, completely, without resistance, and no kiss had ever been as perfect. Fenris gave him a little push backwards, and the next thing he knew, he was pinned to a wall, Fenris's mouth still on his.

They kissed and kissed until Anders was lightheaded with it, taking shaky, gasping breaths to get enough air into his lungs. Fenris pulled back, and Anders blinked is eyes open.

It took him a while to realise his vision was blurry because he had tears in his eyes.

"Anders?" Fenris said, worry in his voice.

Anders blinked, and the tears fell to his cheeks. Fenris's hand rose to wipe them away, his palm warm against Anders' skin, metal-covered fingertips carefully avoiding contact, and the gentleness of the touch only made more tears well up in Anders' eyes.

"What is it?" Fenris asked.

Anders tried to explain, but all that came out of his mouth when he parted his lips was a helpless sob. Fenris said his name again, and Anders buried his face into the elf's neck and held on as tight as he could. Careful hands stroked his back, and Anders took deep breaths, filling his lungs with Fenris's scent, letting it calm him.

"I'm just … relieved," he managed to whisper, the tears still streaming down his cheeks and onto Fenris's skin. "I thought you'd want to kill me for what I did to you, and"—he let out a helpless, sobbing laugh—"and now you've kissed me instead."

Fenris hummed softly and held him tighter. "I am thankful you let me."

Anders smiled and stayed where he was, surprised that he didn't feel like a complete idiot for crying, until the tears finally ceased. He lifted his head and wiped his cheeks with both hands before meeting Fenris's gaze. To his astonishment, the elf's eyes seemed a little too bright and reddened too.

"So much better this way, isn't it?" Fenris asked, with a hint of a tremor in his voice.

"It is," Anders agreed. "Kiss me again?"

Fenris did, and the elf's mouth on his was the sweetest thing Anders had ever tasted. He pushed his hands into Fenris's hair and let the elf shove him back against the wall. Fenris's mouth moved down to his neck, lips unbearably soft on his skin, and for the love of Maker and Andraste both, Anders was already considering ripping off their clothes and letting Fenris have him right there against the wall.

"I want you," he breathed as Fenris's teeth grazed his skin. "I want you so much."

Fenris lifted his head and looked up, eyes dark and full of heat. "I want you too."

He kissed Anders' mouth again, and Anders parted his lips without prompting, welcomed Fenris's tongue in with his own. Fenris's hands were roaming his body, tugging at his clothes, cupping the curve of his behind through his trousers, the sharp tips of the gauntlets pressing into his skin, and getting naked was starting to seem more and more appealing the longer the elf touched him.

"We can't do this here," Fenris murmured against his lips.

Anders groaned and let his head fall back against the wall. Fenris's mouth touched his exposed neck.

"The others are waiting for us downstairs," the elf continued.

"Please don't talk about them while your mouth is on me," Anders said.

He'd meant _shut up and keep kissing me_ , but instead, Fenris pulled back.

"We are in Varric's room," he said and pecked Anders on the cheek. "We should go back."

Anders sighed, but he knew Fenris was right. He dragged the elf into one more kiss, this one slow and tender, their breaths mingling as their lips moved together, and when Fenris finally pulled back, Anders let him go.

Side by side, they headed back downstairs.

Isabela had joined the others while Fenris and Anders had been in Varric's room. She grinned at them as they headed towards the table.

"I hope you didn't do unspeakable things to Varric's bed," she said, her voice loud enough that several other patrons turned to look at her direction. "Or any other pieces of furniture."

Anders could feel his cheeks heating. "We didn't," he said, annoyed. "But the thing is. We—er. Sort of—"

"Considered it?" Isabela offered. "We know, darling."

"Shut up," Fenris said, but without heat. He took a seat, and when Anders sat down next to him, placed a gauntleted hand on Anders' thigh and met his eyes. "Some things have … changed."

It surprised Anders, a little, how many delighted looks that caused on their companions' faces. Grinning, Hawke opened her mouth.

"No." Anders pointed at her. "No, this was not your doing, you conniving little—"

"Anders," Fenris interrupted him. "Do not be uncharitable."

Justice agreed with the elf.

So did Hawke. "Yes, Anders," she said. "Don't do that. This would have not happened if I had not sent you both to take that book. I'm the best."

"You have no idea how much trouble—" Anders started.

"Anders," Fenris interrupted again, a hint of warning in his voice now. "Perhaps you should think of what you are about to say."

Anders closed his mouth. Yes, he should definitely think before talking, Justice told him. What had happened with the flowers was not something their companions needed to hear. No matter how well things had turned out in the end, it was not something that should be shared with anyone else.

"What happened?" Hawke asked, her amusement and smugness replaced by genuine worry. "Are you two all right?"

"We are," Anders said. " _Things_ happened. We talked them over. We're fine." He looked at Fenris. "Aren't we?"

Fenris nodded and offered him a tiny, private smile. "We are." He caught Anders' hand in his own and gave it a squeeze under the table, and Anders smiled back at him.

"Don't think you are forgiven though," Anders said to Hawke. "And you're _so_ not playing matchmaker with us after this."

She snorted. "I don't _have_ to; it already worked." Her eyes darted to Merrill's direction. "I can start my next project now."

Anders let out a defeated sigh. Hawke was _impossible_.

They played cards for a few hours, and Anders found himself ridiculously aware of Fenris's presence next to him. A part of him was still reeling from the speed at which things had changed between them once they'd finally talked, and there were moments when he nearly lost his breath thinking they'd _kissed_. He'd had Fenris's lips on his, tasted the elf's mouth, felt his breath.

And once they could leave the Hanged Man, he would have it again.

Perhaps he would even have something more.

That thought was enough of a distraction that he lost the track of the game for the third time that night, though he supposed the effect to his chances of winning was negligible. With a little sigh, he laid his cards down on the table. He couldn't take it anymore; he needed to get Fenris out of here and, if the elf was willing, into a bed.

He turned to Fenris and leant in close, which, he knew, got all eyes around the table on the two of them, but it was difficult to care about that. Fenris's hair brushed his nose, and he could feel the scent of the elf's skin again.

"Would you like to take me home?" he whispered, lips very nearly touching Fenris's pointed ear.

Fenris let out a shaky breath. " _Yes_."

Anders couldn't resist pressing a kiss on that lovely ear. "Good." Another kiss. " _Now_."

Fenris's fingers found his, the metal covering them smooth against his skin, and then the elf was already getting up, pulling Anders along with him.

"We are done," Fenris said. "Good night."

Hawke winked at them. "Have fun!" she said cheerfully.

As Fenris dragged Anders towards the door, Anders couldn't really even be annoyed with her.


	9. Real and Good

By the time they reached Fenris's mansion, Anders was desperate to be able to touch Fenris again. Fenris seemed to feel the same, because the moment the door closed behind them, the elf's gauntleted hand wrapped around Anders' and pulled him closer. Anders leant down to rest his forehead on Fenris's, and the elf closed his eyes and let out a satisfied little sigh, the hand around Anders' tightening.

They stood like that, breathing the same air, for a long while, but the need to have more grew inside Anders with each passing heartbeat until he couldn't wait anymore, and he pulled back a fraction. Perhaps they should have talked more, taken things slower, but Anders wanted Fenris so much. This time, they would do it right, would both know they wanted it and would not regret it in the morning.

"Let me kiss you," he whispered, nearly begging, and Fenris's hand rose to curve around the back of his head and pulled him down, allowed their mouths to meet.

The kiss started gentle, a brush of lips followed by another, but soon grew hungry, Anders' tongue sliding into Fenris's mouth as he cupped the elf's jaw and tilted his head back. Fenris made a needy noise into Anders' mouth, on hand gripping Anders' shoulder as the other clutched at his belt, and Anders was so ready for more.

"I want you," he whispered against Fenris's lips. "I need to feel you inside me again."

Fenris pushed him back enough to look at him, eyes filled with sudden worry.

"Are you sure about this?" He brushed his metal-covered fingers down Anders' cheek. "You have to be sure, Anders."

He'd said the exact same thing that night in the tent. Anders gave him the same answer.

"I'm sure." He leant in again and pressed the tiniest kiss on Fenris's lips. "I was sure the last time. I'm sure now. As long as you promise me you want me, I'm always sure."

Fenris's throat moved as he swallowed, an he closed his eyes an took a shuddery breath through his nose.

Anders touched his cheek. "Fenris?"

The elf hesitated before opening his eyes. "My memories of that night are hazy at best," he said, voice soft, "but I have been dreaming. Many of those dreams were … less than good. But some—" He looked down. "In some of them, there were no flowers. Just you."

Anders knew a few things about dreams like that too.

"Tell me this is not one of those dreams," Fenris whispered.

Anders' heart ached. They'd told Hawke they were fine, but though they were not broken, they were both a little damaged and in need of healing. It would take time, but he was sure they could manage it, together.

"It's not," he said. He stroked his thumb across Fenris's smooth cheek. "This is real. I swear this is real."

"Prove it."

Gently, Anders pulled the Fenris into a kiss. "Does this feel real?" he whispered against the elf's mouth.

Fenris nodded a little.

"It will all be real. When you're inside me, you won't doubt this, I promise."

"I want you," Fenris said. His mouth curved into a small smile that held more warmth Anders could have ever imagined. "So much."

"Then have me," Anders told him. "Now. Please."

They stumbled into Fenris's bed in a tangle of limbs, naked, Fenris on top. Anders pulled the elf closer and kissed him, Fenris's mouth soft and eager against his, tongue slick as it traced his lips. Fenris's hands made their way into his hair, combing through it and pulling out the tie, tilting his head back, and Anders gasped as the elf's mouth descended on his neck, kissing and nibbling. Fenris's hips met his, the elf's hardness hot where it was pressed to his own, and Anders couldn't bear to wait a moment longer.

"Take me," he said. "Take me now."

"Yes." Fenris's eyes were dark with need. "Please."

He picked up a small bottle of oil from his bedside table, slicked his lovely, long, lyrium-branded fingers, and when Anders spread his thigs wider, lifting his knees with his feet flat on the bedding, the elf reached between his legs. The slick fingertips touched Anders, careful but clearly familiar with what they were doing, the lyrium tingling where it brushed over his hole, and Anders held his breath as the fingers pushed in, firm but slow enough to give him time to adjust.

It was better than he could have imagined. Fenris was gentle, deft, and he knew where to touch, how to curl and twist his fingers until Anders was panting and trembling with every steady slide into him. The lyrium felt even better inside him, made both him and Justice yearn for more.

Fenris's eyes kept travelling between Anders' face and the place where his fingers disappeared into Anders' body, and the intensity of his gaze left Anders torn between sudden desire to hide and the need to show more of himself, let Fenris see right into his mind and heart.

"I cannot wait to be inside you," Fenris whispered.

Anders swallowed. "Do it now. I'm ready. I need to feel you now."

Fenris bent down to kiss him, and then the elf's fingers were sliding out. Anders felt empty without them, but Fenris was already spreading the oil on himself; he was hard and ready, just for Anders, and nothing could have ever been as beautiful.

He shifted so that the tip of his hardness pressed against Anders, hot, slick, almost inside, and stilled. Anders looked up and met Fenris's eyes.

"This is real," he promised, and pulled Fenris down into a kiss. "All real, I swear."

As his tongue slipped into the elf's mouth, Fenris pushed into him. It was much slower than the last time, and it felt both familiar and new. Anders reached between their bodies where they were connected, fingertips touching Fenris's hardness, measuring its slow slide into him as they kept kissing. Fenris was so thick and long, filled him so completely he could hardly take it. Nothing else existed but this, but Fenris, claiming him, inch by glorious inch.

All the way inside, Fenris paused. His eyes were squeezed shut as if in agony, and he was breathing hard through his mouth.

"Look at me," Anders told him

Fenris opened his eyes. They were dark and a little wild.

"Does it feel real?" Anders asked.

" _Yes_ ," Fenris breathed, and Anders could hear the relief in his voice.

Anders smiled up at him. "Good. It is. It will always be."

Fenris smiled back and began to move, little rolls of his hips that already sent pleasure sparking up Anders' spine. He cupped the back of Fenris's head and kept the elf close, within easy kissing distance, and Fenris did not hold back, kissed him as if he was trying to devour Anders.

To Anders' delight, Fenris was much more vocal than he'd been that night in the tent; not loud, but he kept gasping and moaning softly, and it may have been the most arousing thing Anders had ever heard. In the tent, Fenris had been holding back, but now, he let Anders have all of him, every little touch and sound as he buried himself into Anders' body, again and again.

The pace of Fenris's thrusts stayed easy, but he filled Anders deep each time, giving him as much as he could take it. Fenris's hands danced on Anders' skin, caressing every part of it he could reach, and Anders clung to him, felt the lyrium under his touch, and he never, ever wanted to let go. Justice agreed, eager to keep the elf close for as long as they could.

Each push into his body was better than the previous one, and Anders wanted to tell Fenris how much he loved this, how perfect it felt to be taken like this, but didn't have the words anymore.

"That's good," was all he could manage. "That's so, so _good_."

In response, Fenris kissed him again, tongue sliding into Anders' mouth, breath warm against Anders' skin. He caught Anders' hands in his own and pinned them to the bedding, and Anders realised he could have not freed himself if he'd wanted to. There was that strength he had dreamt off, long before the flowers, and he had never been as happy to be held down. It could have been frightening, to be under the power of someone so much stronger than him, but he trusted Fenris. Even under the influence of the flowers, Fenris had not forced him; here, Anders couldn't even imagine the elf would do anything he did not want.

Fenris's fingers slid between his, and Anders gripped the elf's hands, held on. There was beautiful hunger in Fenris's eyes, sunlight-bright, and Anders revelled in it, let it caress his skin. Held down and looked like that, he felt wanted in a way he'd never thought possible.

"This time," Fenris told him, "I want to remember every detail. The noises you make, the tightness of you around me, the look on your face when I make you come. All of it."

"Yes," Anders breathed. " _Please_."

Fenris freed one of his hands, and Anders took the opportunity to pull him down into another kiss. As they kissed, Fenris's fingers made their way between their bodies and wrapped around Anders' straining flesh, and Anders groaned into the elf's mouth. Fenris's palm was a little rough and his grip was tight, perfect, the lyrium pressed to sensitive skin as he began to stroke.

Anders arched up into his fist and then shoved his hips back down to take Fenris all the way inside him. Caught between the unbearable pleasure of Fenris in him and touching him, Anders choked out Fenris's name as it became too much and he spilled slick and hot over the elf's fingers. Fenris groaned and kept thrusting into him with almost desperate intensity now, mouth barely leaving Anders'. Anders clutched at him let himself to be used until finally, Fenris tensed, hips jerking.

"Anders," he moaned, sounding almost agonised, and Anders held him close as he found his completion, deep inside Anders' body where he belonged.

Anders could have stayed like this forever, basking in the glorious afterglow with Fenris in his arms, one of the elf's hands holding his. It felt right, as if they'd always been meant to end up here, together. He gave Fenris another kiss, and the elf smiled, slow and sweet. Anders could get used to seeing that smile.

Perhaps he could forgive Hawke for being a conspiring bastard and sending him on that trip with Fenris, after all.

Justice told him he absolutely should, and Anders smiled a little.

He stroked Fenris's hair. "Are you all right?"

Fenris nodded.

"You sure?" He cupped Fenris's jaw and tilted the elf's head back. "Absolutely sure?"

Fenris smiled at him and covered Anders' hand with his own. "I'm fine, you fool." He pressed their lips together in a gentle, light kiss. "Thank you. That was—that was what I needed. Having you, knowing you wanted it."

"And I will want it again," Anders told him.

That earnt him another kiss. "Good. So will I."

Anders closed his eyes pulled Fenris a fraction closer, and the elf let out a satisfied sigh against his skin. This was what Anders had missed after their first time, this comfortable quiet they could share, with no guilt nor pain. Only the two of them, together and happy.

He was just about to drift off, calm and satisfied as he was, when Fenris called his name. He hummed in response, too sleepy to speak.

"What if—what if I said that—" He could hear Fenris swallowing, and the hand around his squeezed tighter. "What if I said that I loved you?" the elf whispered.

Anders' eyes flew open. He was suddenly much more alert, Justice quiet and trembling inside him. His heart hammered in his chest so loud Fenris had to be able to hear it.

"I would—" he paused, hesitated, his throat tight. His heartbeat showed no signs of slowing down. "I would probably tell you I loved you too," he managed to whisper.

Fenris let out a long, slow sigh, and the hand holding Anders' relaxed but didn't let go.

"Good," he said. "That's … good." Somehow, he managed to shift closer, his warm body pressed more tightly to Anders'.

It _was_ good, Anders decided.

It was very, very good.


End file.
